Chapter 1394

"Five six seven, go!"

But the first four beats are not over yet - to be exact, the third sixteenth note of the fourth beat, Fletcher interrupts the performance again and shakes his head slightly in negative. Crisp and neat, the rhythm is cut off without any procrastination, and the sense of oppression seems to be accumulating bit by bit, creating a sense of shackles like a lump in the throat.

Before he knew it, Fletcher had already stood in front of Andrew. There was only a set of drums between them. His steps seemed to be pushing forward with the rhythm of speech and the accumulation of pressure. Then he had formed a one-on-one confrontation with Andrew. He raised his hands and pressed them down gently, Vaguely can feel that he is patiently explain the situation, "and my rhythm does not fit. It doesn't matter. Don't worry. Let's do it again. "

Fletcher himself began to beat the rhythm, "five six seven, go."

Andrew listened to Fletcher's rhythm and started his own beating, but after a four beat, Fletcher stopped playing again and said simply, "you're in a hurry. One more time. "

Andrew's muscles have tightened up, "rush"? Why didn't he notice?

The drumstick had just stopped, and then just before Fletcher hit the beat again, he played the jazz drum again. It seemed that he could not wait to show himself again, proving that his talent could still control the situation on the scene, but the drumstick sound was impatient and abrupt.

He stopped in a hurry and looked at Fletcher; Fletcher raised his hands and motioned, still in a mild voice, "not too anxious. Are you ready? " Andrew didn't even realize he was nodding. "Good, five six seven... Let's go!"

Another four beat.

Fletcher shook his head. "You're dragging. Here it is Then he gave a sign with his eyes, as if to say: do you understand?

Andrew nodded his head to show his understanding, and then could not wait to start fighting again, but Fletcher immediately waved his hand and interrupted Andrew's hasty performance

It made Andrew's muscles tense completely. He realized that he seemed to be losing control, but the inner tension and panic could not be revealed. He had to keep calm. Focus, focus, focus!

"Five six seven, go!"

It's the first four, the damned 17th.

Fletcher's hands were clenched into fists, shaking his head. "Let's go." Then he hit his hands again, "567, go."

Wrong again.

"It's too late. Five six seven, go

It's all like a nightmare. Over and over, over and over again, they're stuck in the same place, like a cheap horror movie. Every time Fletcher said he was in a hurry, he slowed down a little bit, and then he delayed; Then he speeded up a little bit, but he didn't expect to catch up again. Like this, he kept going around again and again, never going out.

That sense of oppression began to accumulate layer upon layer. The more tense it was, the more wrong it was, the more panic it was, and the more panic it was, the more nervous it was. The vicious circle could not stop, just like a nightmare in a maze.

Didn't Fletcher say he came here for a reason? Didn't Fletcher say just relax and enjoy? Didn't Fletcher say he could go after buddy rich? Didn't fleck say that his performance was excellent?

So what's going on now? What the hell happened? What did he do wrong? What's wrong with his performance?

He didn't know. Compared with making mistakes, what's more terrible is that he doesn't know where to make mistakes, and how to coordinate and control fast and slow? What's going on with the third quarter of the fourth bar? Damn the sixteenth note. What's rush? What's delay?

What should I do? What should I do?

Andrew's shoulders were completely stretched, like a dead circle, and he was playing the same bar again.

The first four shots passed. No sound.

The second four is over. There's still no sound.

Andrew looked at Fletcher with the rest of his eye, trying to confirm whether it was good news or bad news. Was his performance right at last? Is that the rhythm of Fletcher? Wait, if that's right, what's the rhythm? Which point should Fletcher's rhythm step on?

But Fletcher turned around and couldn't see his face at all. He could only judge from his back. He was nodding his head to beat the rhythm, as if he was completely immersed in the melody.

This makes Andrew work harder and harder to show his spirituality and talent, hoping to win Fletcher's favor again.

Fletcher stood beside the door, holding the folding chair with his right hand, and his jaw still stepped on the beat. The whole person seemed very happy and comfortable. Without warning, he lifted the folding chair, just like throwing a Frisbee, and turned around to fly away in the direction of Andrew.

Seriously drumming, Andrew slowed down for a while, and then saw the folding chair whirring around like blood drops. A strong sense of survival suddenly burst out. He quickly bent down, hugged his head with both hands, and made a defensive posture. On the top of his head, he could feel the roaring waves of the helicopter propeller.

"Hoo."

The sharp and sharp wind swept by, and then the folding chair slammed into the wooden wall behind it. It made a dull sound and knocked down everything nearby. Everyone in the rehearsal room was frightened, and the trombone and horn Saxophone began to lose their tune.

Andrew was hit by 100000.

His life is in danger. He really feels the danger of life hanging on the line. He sticks out his head in shock, looks around carefully, and swallows his saliva continuously, which reveals his inner fear and panic. The rapid flashing pupil reveals his uneasy confusion and timidity.

What's going on?

What happened just now?

Andrew hesitated to sit up straight again. Then he saw Fletcher standing in front of him, looking at himself without expression. Andrew was wronged and at a loss. He couldn't figure out the situation at all. He gave Fletcher a slight trembling pupil, but he quietly moved away because of his fear, But Fletcher's fixed eyes seemed to swallow him alive at any time, and he had to move his eyes again to look at Fletcher.

Swallowing again, trying to ease the tension, but it's too difficult.

Inhale, exhale; Inhale again, exhale again.

Fletcher only used two movements to show his strong anger. He is very angry. He is very angry now. Even if he just threw the chair, he still can't vent his emotion. He needs to break out now. Whoever hits the muzzle of the gun will die very ugly.

Now, apparently, Andrew's hit the gun.

Fletcher tried to keep calm and supported his chin with one hand again. "Do you know why I just threw a chair at you? "Neyman?"

Andrew knew the answer in his heart: he was wrong. But the problem is, he didn't know what was wrong with him. Now his head is just a paste. He can't think at all. He can only stammer, "I... I don't know." The violent shaking of the pupil reveals the inner uncertainty.

"Of course you know." Fletcher said firmly.

Andrew held his breath, closed his lips, and his eyes gathered slightly. No one noticed that. He adjusted his breath secretly, as if he was cheering for himself. Then he tried his best to keep his words steady. "Rhythm?"

Fletcher took a big breath, his right hand constantly rubbing his chin, "are you in a hurry or a drag?"

Andrew's face froze, blinked, and said hesitantly, "I... I don't know."

This answer completely angered Fletcher, strode over, murderous eyes seemed to have Andrew on the gallows, "start counting."

"Five six seven..." Andrew couldn't help but close his eyes, the ubiquitous fear firmly surrounded him, and even his voice began to shake slightly.

"Count to hell four!" Fletcher's voice tightened to the extreme, anger seeping out bit by bit, "look at me!"

Andrew, like a robot, turned his head and tried to open his eyes to Fletcher, but the focus and focus were collapsing bit by bit. His light brown eyes were full of light, just like Bambi, innocent and fragile. He still tried to keep his eyes from moving away, and then... Began to count.

"One two three four. One two three four. "

Fletcher raised his right hand at the beginning of the count, slapped him in the face, but as he was about to fall on Andrew's face, he shook his head.

The next second, "Ka," Damien's voice called out. He hugged his head in chagrin and exclaimed, "JK, oh, JK, what's the matter? What's going on! Everything's fine, isn't it? JK！”

Simmons himself also hugged the big bald head, all the anger and all the rage were all like the tide of general subsided, he was very depressed to stand up straight body, looking at the near blue Li.

He can't do it. He can't do it after all. At this time, the slap happened at this time, but Simmons could not shake it down hard. At the last moment, he could not help braking. He knew it was wrong, but he could not control his emotions. Those feelings of panic and timidity, which should have appeared in Andrew, fell to the bottom of his heart.

It's really hard.